


Dick Pics

by EloquentSavage



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Bottom Derek Hale, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Forgive Me, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Prompt Fic, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd & Derek Hale Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4353989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloquentSavage/pseuds/EloquentSavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://theysortalooklikeyou.tumblr.com/post/124144110114/witharab-now-that-i-showed-you-dont-ask"> Prompt based on this tumblr post.</a> It's VERY NSFW and maybe the whole thing got out of hand, but you know. That's what this shit is for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dick Pics

“Remember runs in the morning! I’m not watching all of you get fat before the season even starts!” Coach shouted obnoxiously. "Don't look at me like that Greenberg! Stop bringing donuts and I’ll think about making you run a little less." 

Making a break straight for his locker was the only thing on Derek’s mind, until Stilinski practically ran into him dodging out the side door still in his gear. Derek watched him pull off his jersey and bend down to shove it in his bag before the door shut completely. Boyd leaned against the locker next to Derek’s to take his shoes off and a wall of stench hit him. Turning around didn't help because Scott smelled just as awful. 

“It’s so fucking muggy and hot, how the hell can Stilinski even stand himself?” Derek marveled. 

“His Jeep smells like an armpit,” Boyd complained. 

“It’s not that bad,” Scott jumped to defend his best friend. 

Derek wasn't sure why. “Who cares?” he asked Scott as he pulled off his shorts and grabbed a towel off the pile he kept in his locker. 

“Nuh--nothing,” Scott stammered awkwardly. 

“You afraid we think bad of your lil’ nugget?” Boyd teased. He laughed a little at his own joke and shrugged. “I don’t care ‘cept he takes me home after games sometimes.” Boyd scrunched his nose up like he was really disgusted by the idea. 

“That’s stupid. Why the hell isn't he just showering before he leaves?” Derek asked no one, or everyone. Maybe just Scott because he might know but Derek barely cared enough to get an answer. They were just bullshitting. “He have a job?” he asked Scott. 

“N--o?” Scott dragged out the word until it hardly was one. 

“What the fuck happened to your chill dude?” Boyd laughed. “Wait.” he held his hand up and narrowed his eyes in Derek’s direction, stopping him from bailing on the idiocy to shower finally. “Is there a reason Stilinski doesn't shower here?” Boyd’s face stretched into a wicked, giddy grin that was a lot more about him being a shithead than anything else. He liked to rile Scott up sometimes because Boyd thought it was their job as seniors. 

Derek realized Scott looked like he was about to puke, and suddenly he was invested in the answer too. “Come on, spill,” Derek demanded. 

“Stilinski has a huge dick,” Jackson said very loudly. He shut his locker loudly, grinned loudly like he was really pleased with the bomb he had dropped in the locker room, then laughed loudly at Danny, who looked like he wanted to punch Jackson right in his smug face. 

Derek wanted to punch him in his smug, fucking face as well, so he empathized with Danny. 

“What? Just look at McCall’s face,” Jackson laughed. “He’s obviously seen it.” The knowing lilt in Jackson’s voice was meant to insinuate Scott and Stiles were fucking, but no one else was laughing. 

“Anyone!” Derek shouted loud enough to startle Coach and make him look out his office door. “Anyone repeats what Dipshit Whittemore just said gets kicked off the team. Zero fucking tolerance.” Derek took a step closer to Jackson, unwilling to make Jackson's humiliation public. “This isn't your dad’s country club, you asshole,” Derek said quietly. “I’m queer, and your best friend is gay. Get a fucking clue.” 

Maybe it gave Derek a sick sort of pleasure seeing Jackson squirm, or maybe he was just tired of the weird, mildly homophobic shit Jackson said sometimes. It wasn't terrible, but Derek hated Danny had to put up with it. Danny came out first, so by the time Derek did, no one gave a shit. They weren't best friends or anything, but they were bro’s. Derek understood what he owed Danny and he wasn't afraid to pay up.

Boyd’s long, threatening stare at Jackson, and Scott’s big puppy grin didn't hurt either. Jackson wanted to start in LaCrosse bad enough he’d be towing the line by the end of the day and pretending it was never him that said it by the end of the week. Derek just hoped they didn't lose Stilinski over it. The kid was weird, but he was a hurricane of enthusiasm. He and Danny were easily the core of team morale. Losing either of them would be hard to recover from. 

***  
“Derek?” Boyd tapped him on the shoulder. Derek turned to see what Boyd wanted. He was pointing at something in their textbook. “You know this part? You didn't get it last night.” 

“Yeah, no, I got it,” Derek assured him. 

“Seriously, dude. What the fuck is up with you?” Boyd made a sound sort of like a snort that Derek was pretty sure meant Boyd thought he was being stupid. He was being stupid, and he didn't want to spell it all out for Boyd. “If you keep staring at him he’s gonna catch you,” Boyd warned. 

Derek’s snapped to attention, his eyes darting away from Stiles Stilinski’s wide shoulders and the nerdy tee shirt stretched across them, to Boyd's knowing grin. “I wasn’t--I--” 

“Yeah, you were,” Boyd nodded, his eyebrows raised like Derek was scandalous, or dumb, or maybe totally fucked. Boyd picked up his phone and sent Derek a text. ‘Size queen?’ was all it said and Derek wanted to die. “Oh, you are tragic,” Boyd laughed quietly. 

No one else seemed to notice, and Boyd was really good at keeping secrets, but it had been four days and what Derek knew about Stiles had turned into a full on fixation. If he was being so obvious Boyd noticed, everyone else was going to notice too unless Derek forced himself to stop. 

“I’m such an asshole,” Derek muttered. 

“What? Wait,” Boyd said, sounding surprised. “He’s a nice guy, and he’s not a bad looking dude, if you like that sort of thing?” Derek didn't respond because he had no idea what to say. He had gone through the same discussion in his head a few times everyday, but he somehow ended up feeling like more of a jerk at the end of them. “You’re not really just interested because of his...” 

“No, jesus,” Derek snapped. Whispering was a good idea, but Derek didn't remember that until he got a couple of confused glances for swearing too loud. “It’s fucking obvious enough though. I mean, everyone’s gonna think If I’m interested now...." 

“Yeah, as opposed to what? You’re not that into dick, you just date guys for the ball scratching and fart jokes?" Boyd scoffed. “No matter how you ever came at that, everyone was gonna think something,” Boyd said as he pointed at Stiles. “Big dick, money, an unparalleled willingness to suck you off? Someone's gonna say something stupid. At least this might be true." 

"You don't think it is?" Derek asked. 

"Dude," Boyd raised his hands, still whispering. "I'm not the curious one in this scenario." 

*** 

"Why does Derek keep staring at me. Did I fuck something up?" Stiles hissed at Scott as quietly as he could out on the loud field with helmets in their way. Scott looked terrified for a second then shook his head, shrugging like he had no idea. "Liar.” Stiles pointed right at Scott, making him flinch. It was as good as a confession. 

It was a bad idea to try to get Scott to talk in the middle of practice, but Stiles had impulse control issues and Scott looked really guilty. He asked again, only to have Scott shoot him down more frantically. When Stiles pressured him again, maybe he took the questioning a little too far.

“No!,” Scott finally snapped. Stiles shut up so fast he surprised himself. “Just leave it alone, okay?” Scott asked apologetically. 

Stiles nodded, agreeing because Scotty didn't get mad over small stuff, but the minute he was in his Jeep after practice he sent Scott a text. He only had to send one. Scott always talked himself into telling Stiles everything. That was how they worked. As he was pulling into the his driveway he got the worst text message he could ever imagine Scott sending him. So bad he pulled up into his front yard a little and killed the engine before the sick feeling in his gut and the adrenaline parading around in his veins put him on the evening news as that asshole kid of the Sheriff’s that drove his Jeep through the front of his house. 

Maybe he stared at the screen for a while, maybe he cried a little, maybe he talked himself out of puking, but he pretended he was all aces when he finally called Scott like he asked. 

“Hey,” Stiles said as casually as he could muster, which probably wasn't that casual at all. 

“I swear to god I didn't say anything Stiles, I--”

“No, Scotty, I know,” Stiles cringed. 

“How does Jackson know? Did you--?” 

“Fuck no! Oh my god, no.” Stiles wanted to barf just thinking about touching Jackson fucking Whittemore with anything other than his fists. “I was in econ a few weeks back and pulled some mints out of my pocket...” Stiles sunk down in his seat wishing he could disappear. “You remember when my dad--”

“You had one of those huge condoms in your fucking pocket?” Scott asked. He sounded like he couldn't believe how stupid Stiles was, and he was right. “Stiles, why?” 

“Because Heather gave me a look,” Stiles stated. Saying it out loud made Scott groan in embarrassment. Heather did make out with him, but she said before hand she was just experimenting because she might be gay. After ten minutes with Stiles she decided she was, and he couldn’t tell Scott because Heather asked him not to. “I was just--fuck, I don’t know? Being me?” Stiles leaned over his steering wheel. His face was stretched out uncomfortably as he rested his cheek against the hard plastic, but it was better than pretending he could still human. Being upright was a terrible fucking idea. 

“Maybe everyone will keep their mouths shut?” Scott said hopefully. 

“Are you kidding? This is high school dude.” Stiles was slurring because the steering wheel was getting in his way. “By tomorrow I’m going to be known as Monster Shlong guy and I’m never going to hear the fucking end of it.” Stiles wanted to puke. He wanted to move far away where no one knew him, maybe Alaska. “Forever,” Stiles added dramatically because Scott wasn't saying anything. 

“Everyone’s kept their mouths shut so far?” Scott said hopefully. 

“What? Why? Wait, when did this happen?” Stiles shot up and scowled at his dash because it was there to scowl at and Scott wasn't. 

“I didn’t--” Scott stammered. 

“Scott, you tell me right now or I swear to god--”

“No, okay! Okay,” Scott agreed because he was terrified of what Stiles might do. They both knew it. “It was a week ago...” And for a second Stiles tuned out as his bones turned to liquid and his gut churned so bad he felt like he might shit himself. He planted his face against the steering wheel again and seriously contemplated home school. “...so he threatened to kick anyone off the team who repeated what Jackson said.” 

“Derek?” Stiles asked. 

“Obviously. He was really cool,” Scott assured him. “I mean, he didn't even wait or think about it, he just slammed that shit right back in Jackson’s face,” Scott laughed. “It was kind of beautiful dude. I sort of wish you were there.” 

Sure, Stiles was still pretty terrified of complete and utter social mayhem when he and Scott had worked so hard the last couple years to stay off everyone’s radar for the lame, stupid shit they did in junior high, but he kind of agreed. He wished he had been there to see it too. If watching the smackdown didn't involve being totally humiliated by the fact that it happened at all, he might have even been a little excited about it. 

Still, being upright was a fucking terrible idea. His face hurt from being smashed against his steering wheel, he stunk like a dead dog because of practice and he was starving. It took him a minute to talk himself into getting out of his Jeep after hanging up with Scott, but once he fell on the lawn and laid there for a while baking in the sun he cared more about how gross and sweaty he still was than how shitty things were. 

Maybe, if he was lucky, his dad would let him skip tomorrow. Or he would lie and say he had diarrhea. That always worked. 

***

“You sure? I can come over later?” Scott offered again. He looked up at Derek nervously, but he didn't give away Derek was standing there, listening in. “Alright bro, just don’t freak out, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow?” Scott asked Stiles like he wasn't sure Stiles would be in school tomorrow either, and that made Derek nervous. “Love you too brother,” Scott grinned when he said goodbye to Stiles even though Stiles couldn't see him. 

They really cared about each other. 

“Who said something to him?” Derek demanded the second Scott looked up at him. 

“Um, no one actually.” Scott scratched the back of his head nervously and glanced up at Derek like he was afraid he might get pummeled for telling the truth. “I think you were just so worried...” Scott trailed off, and Derek stood up a little straighter. 

It was a moment of profound discomfort as Scott tried to insinuate how Stiles figured out what Jackson had said without blaming Derek and his humiliating fixation on Stiles directly. He tried to tune out most of the stuttering, frantic explanation coming out of Scott’s mouth without reacting. If he did, he was going to be a dick about it. “I’ll apologize to him,” Derek muttered when Scott finally took a breath. 

“No, um.” Scott looked alarmed and worried. “It’s just a misunderstanding, and--you know--unless it’s not and you really mean it?” Scott cringed in such a painful, exhausting way Derek wondered how he ever thought of Scott McCall as chill. 

Derek scratched at his eyebrows and eyes with his fingers, scrunching them down like his dad did when he was really fucking annoyed. Then he wondered if he looked as terrified when his dad did it as Scott looked after Derek dropped his hand. 

“I mean it,” Derek stated as plainly as he was willing to. 

Scott’s eyebrows shot up like some kind of cartoon character and Derek wanted to die a little. Hanging out with Stiles would mean hanging out with McCall and that suddenly sounded like the worst idea. “You mean it like, you think he’s--” Scott tried to ask, but Derek wasn’t into it. His stare must have said so because Scott stopped talking abruptly. “Right, you mean it. Okay, good,” Scott nodded, sunshine practically beaming out of his big, crooked face. “You know where he lives?” Scott asked eagerly. 

 

“No,” Derek said too quickly. “Sort of,” he admitted. “Just text me the address and don’t...” Derek struggled with what to say that wouldn't completely destroy the nuclear levels of happiness McCall was swimming in. He was sort of flattered Scott was that excited, and he wasn’t that much of a dick. “Just don't say anything, okay?” Derek asked. 

“No, dude, we’re good,” Scott giggled. 

He fucking giggled and Derek had to walk away. There was no way he had signed up for that shit. 

***

“Stiles!” his dad shouted up the stairs. “Stiles! Derek Hale is here to see you!” 

The immediate heart ripping rush of adrenaline should have killed him. Instead he landed on the floor with a thud and froze, listening to see if he was dreaming, or maybe it was a nightmare. His dad laughed the adult sort of laugh, like he was apologizing for something stupid Stiles did, like falling out of bed. 

“Coming!” Stiles shouted back. He ran to his dresser, rifled through it for a little too long, then gave up because he didn't have any clean clothes anyways. It was sweat pants or nothing. 

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice asked from the other side of his door. He was fucked because his door wasn’t even shut. “Your dad said I could come up but I can go wait downstairs if--” Yeah, Stiles had impulse control issues, but Derek was smiling when Stiles threw the door open even though Stiles was sure he looked a little fucked up and a lot terrified. “Hey, I brought you pizza and your homework,” Derek offered up the box without flinching. Hopefully that meant Stiles didn't look like that much of a spazz.

“Um, thanks,” Stiles forced himself to say. “That was really nice of you.” When Derek smiled again he decided maybe it wasn't a terrible idea letting him in, Derek was a pretty cool guy. Until Stiles moved out of his way and saw his disgusting ass room objectively, then he was mortified, but it was too late. “I’ve felt kinda like shit for a while,” Stiles said as he rushed to pick up dirty clothes and kick a few things out of the way. “No time to clean,” he said in a lame, apologetic tone that made him sound like an asshole. 

“My mom gets so pissed about my room during tournaments,” Derek laughed. “This is pretty clean by our standards, but my dad probably isn't as strict as yours.” Derek glanced out the door like he was worried The Sheriff might come barging in any moment. Stiles was familiar with the look.

“No, my dad is cool. He’s just alone--you know, it’s just me and him,” Stiles explained as he pushed his blankets back and sat at the end of his bed. “I don't want to be a pain in the ass.” Stiles smiled at the sort-of joke, but Derek looked a little bewildered for a second. Stiles reached out and snatched his homework from Derek’s hands before he could say anything else tragic and awkward. “Geez, Harris really wants us to suffer,” he muttered as he looked over the notes Mr. Harris left on the reading he needed to do. 

“Yeah, everyone else cuts us a little slack,” Derek agreed. 

“Except Harris,” Stiles nodded. “Thanks again. I just didn't feel very--”

“No, it’s no problem,” Derek waved him off before Stiles could lie about why he skipped school. It was maybe a little obvious on Derek's part, but decent of him still. “I brought pizza, if you haven’t eaten?” 

“No, I--” Stiles stumbled when he realized that meant Derek came over with the intention of actually hanging out. Derek would never do that on his own. They weren't bros, and Scott hadn't called to insist he was coming over. That wasn't a coincidence for. Stiles smelled a plan to placate him into thinking school was safe again. He didn't know how Scott talked Derek into doing it, but he intended to find out. “Did Scott ask you to come hang out with me?” Stiles asked point blank because that was the best way to get an honest reaction. 

It wasn’t until he took a good look at Derek, just wanting to catch him in some kind of lie, that Stiles noticed how nice he looked. His hair was shiny and he didn’t have any stubble, like he just shaved, and he was wearing his lettermans jacket even though it was at least seventy five outside. Also Derek looked unhappy as he opened his mouth to answer. He was about to say something and his eyes crumpled in a weird way that made his big, scary eyebrows suddenly look painfully sad. Derek was disappointed and Stiles was a bag of dicks. Derek was trying to be awesome for some reason and Stiles was being weird and suspicious. He was a bag of huge, ugly, awful dicks that deserved to be punched in the face. 

“Forget it dude,” Stiles laughed, hoping Derek would let his paranoia slide. Derek froze for a second like he was lost and confused and Stiles wanted to punch himself again. He had no filter. His mouth was the final boss and Stiles was always losing. “Bellagio’s is my favorite,” Stiles grinned, trying to save them both “If that’s their Grand Supreme I might actually fall in love with you.” 

“It’s--” Derek started to say, but his eyes went wide and he stopped like he still wasn't sure what to say. Instead he picked up the box and handed it over to Stiles silently. “Scott said it was your favorite.” 

Stiles took the box, not bothering to open it because Derek suddenly looked like someone had run over his puppy. Stiles suspected it was him, but he wasn't exactly sure how he’d done it. “Thank’s dude, that’s really nice of you,” Stiles said again because he wasn't sure what else to say. 

Derek sat up and held out his hands like he was going to say something and Stiles’ dad knocked on the door. Of course he did because his dad had amazing timing. The most epic really. Stiles rushed to the door and threw it open, hoping if he didn't give his dad a chance to come inside he would go away. 

“Hey kiddo,” his dad smiled and looked over his shoulder at Derek, smiling. “I brought you guys some plates and stuff.” His dad offered a few paper plates and a couple sodas. “You still feeling kinda...” his dad cringed, obviously thinking Stiles was actually sick because the pizza box was closed and they weren't eating yet. 

Also Stiles told him he was sick that morning, in great detail. That probably had a lot to do with the intense look of concern he was getting. “It’s passed, you know?” Stiles whispered. “I’ll take it easy though.” 

Thankfully his dad nodded, waved at Derek and disappeared before he said anything strange, or sucked Derek into some crazy conversation about something. His dad could talk to anyone, literally for hours, about nothing. Stiles handed Derek one of the sodas and climbed up on his bed again. Derek turned the can in his hands, his face drawn into a worried scowl. Whatever Derek was thinking, he wasn't comfortable and something about that bothered Stiles so much. Part of him didn't even care if Derek liked him that much, just as long as he was chill and things were easy between them, like they always had been. 

“You wanna drop your jacket and come over here before I devour this whole thing?” Stiles offered. Suddenly Derek's expression changed to something a little more hopeful. Stiles wanted to celebrate his small victory, but he stayed cool and scooted back on his bed, giving Derek plenty of room with the pizza box between them. “I haven’t eaten all day,” Stiles warned as Derek sat down carefully on the end of his bed. “Prepare yourself for some truly grotesque carnage." 

“I can eat a whole one on my own,” Derek stated like he wasn't impressed. He watched Stiles open the pizza box and load up a plate, then took it when Stiles offered, but he didn't start eating until after Stiles was well into his second slice. “You weren't sick today?” Derek asked before he tucked his legs up underneath himself and took a bite of his pizza finally. 

“I took a mental health day.” Stiles was honest because Derek was cool enough. “I’ll make up practice with Scott this weekend.” 

“Nah, dude, I’m--it’s not--” Derek stammered. It made Stiles stop shoving pizza in his face and pay attention to Derek. The ground he won was crumbling underneath him and Stiles needed to know why. Paying attention to Derek seemed to be the wrong thing to do. Derek glanced up at him and cringed like he was freaking out a little when he met Stiles' eyes. “I just want to make sure you were okay,” Derek said to his plate full of pizza. Derek always looked him in the eye. Derek looked everyone in the eye because nothing freaked him out. This was Derek freaking out. 

Stiles was so lost. "Is this some kind of apology thing for the--um, the Jackson thing? Because I am cool.” Stiles dropped his plate his headboard to grab his soda. It was the only thing that made sense. “Scott told me what you said and--yeah, okay it sucks because those guys are assholes, but no one has ever stood up for me like that.” Derek looked up from his pizza, a little less worried maybe. “We’re cool,” Stiles promised. “Really cool. You’re pretty awesome actually. Thanks.” 

Stiles smiled but Derek missed it. He was too busy pretending that opening his soda took all of his attention and his face was turning red. His cheeks and ears mostly. It was fucking weird enough to make Stiles forget he was supposed to swallow his soda for a second. 

“Jackson is an asshole,” Derek muttered. He picked at his pizza a little and glanced back up at Stiles. “No one’s going to say anything. I promise.” Derek sounded oddly sure of himself for how incredibly embarrassed he looked. 

“You gonna kick asses, take names?” Stiles teased him because it seemed like the thing to do. Derek’s head popped up immediately, rewarding Stiles with a devastatingly cute grin. 

“Maybe,” Derek laughed. His eyes dropped again and he waved his hand toward Stiles like he wanted to say something but it took him long enough to get it out Stiles wondered if he actually would. “I just--we need you,” Derek said. “On the team,” he added quickly. 

“Wait.” Stiles wanted to laugh, or maybe cry, he wasn’t sure yet. “Are you here because you thought I was going to quit, dude?” Stiles made a loud, snorting sound that probably wasn't very cool, but it effectively expressed how ridiculous of an idea that was. “Is that why you dressed up and brought pizza? You were that worried? Did you think you were going to be talking to my Dad about it?” Stiles laughed, expecting Derek to finally laugh it up too. Instead Derek was rubbing his eyes with hand like he thought he might be able to dig out his brain through his eye sockets. 

Nothing he said should have made Derek do the angry dad frustrated eyebrows thing. Stiles was so confused. He ran over everything he said, landing on his offhand comment about Derek’s clothes because it was the only thing that was really, very weird. Derek was dressed like he wanted to impress someone. Stiles assumed it was his dad mostly, and maybe Stiles a little, but just about anything else would make more sense. Unless Derek wanted something from him. Adults dressed nice to get shit they wanted and Derek was the most adult-like kid Stiles knew. The thing he couldn't figure out was what Derek could possibly want from him.

When Stiles finally realized what it was, maybe he wanted to die a little, but the rest of him was kind of flattered. There was no way he wasn't going to be a huge jerk about it. Everyone knew Derek was queer. Not totally gay. More like undefined, unwilling to adopt a label, as Danny told it. Derek might be cool as hell about defending Stiles and taking care of the team, but he was still curious. Stiles didn't blame him, he would have been too. Shit, if anyone could see where curiosity took him on the internet they would probably lock him up and throw away the key. 

“You wanna see it,” Stiles snickered. He finished off his soda and did his best to ignore the shocked look on Derek’s face. He deserved to be rattled a little, showing up and freaking Stiles out like it was some kind of big deal. Stiles had thought about what he would do if Scott ever asked, and Derek wasn't that different because he was just as good of a guy as Scott was. “I’m totally willing to let you have a look at it, but I’m not willing to drop trou until we negotiate some terms.” Stiles laid it out clearly so Derek didn't have to fuck around anymore. It was the least he could do to smooth they way a little. 

Also, watching the scathing pink embarrassment crawl up Derek’s neck and turn his ears bright red like maraschino cherries wasn't bad either. Stiles laughed and Derek flinched like Stiles hurt him somehow. Stiles hadn't pegged Derek as so uptight until he looked at Stiles like he had done something wrong. 

“You think that’s why I’m here?” Derek asked. Suddenly he seemed kinda angry and Stiles was even more confused. Embarrassed he understood, but angry was all wrong. 

“Seriously, dude.” Stiles picked up the pizza box and tossed it on the floor. Trying to act casual and unconcerned so Derek would chill. “I don't mind. I would probably ask the exact same thing. I mean, you stuck your neck out, you gotta at least know if it’s true or not, right?” His best, shiny grin did nothing to melt the cold, icy stare Derek was giving him. 

“I’m cool Stiles, don't worry,” Derek said as he rolled off Stiles' bed and grabbed his jacket. Confusion and panic set in as Derek headed for the door with a hard, emotionless look on his face. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, and I’ll let coach know you and McCall are running drills this weekend to make it up.” 

Then he was gone, and he didn't even take his half eaten pizza with him. 

***

“You fucked up,” Scott said with a grunt as he flung a ball at Stiles like he might be able to hit him with it hard enough to punish him for it, but Scott couldn't punish him more than he was punishing himself. Unfortunately for Scott, Stiles caught the ball and that just seemed to make him more mad. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Scott said again, as if it would do some good for Stiles to hear it just one more time.

“He doesn't like me like that Scott,” Stiles said again. It was a blatant lie. The sick, slow feeling he had since that day proved Stiles understood exactly what he had blown off and it wasn't curiosity. Derek had been interested. In him. 

“Yes he does, and you were like....” Scott sighed and picked up another ball, looking for the right word to describe how awful Stiles was. “Offensive. You were offensive.” Scott hurled the ball at him and Stiles caught it again, only because Scott was throwing with so much force it was totally obvious where the ball was going. “Derek is not that kind of guy,” Scott announced in Derek's defense. 

“You mean an asshole like me?” Stiles asked. He dropped to the ground, ignoring the squish of the wet grass under his knees and fell over. He rolled onto his back and squinted at the painfully bright blue sky. “I am a fucking asshole,” Stiles muttered. 

Scott loomed over him menacingly. He kicked Stiles a little, annoying him more than anything else. When he swatted Scott’s feet away, he disappeared. Stiles wasn't sure how long he laid there, but it seemed like the right thing to do. It was symbolic. He laid in his front yard the same way when he found out what Jackson said, thinking his life might be over, but it wasn’t. It was his redo, the surprise life heart at the end of the game and he botched it. This time he was lifelessly mourning his murdered potential. 

“McCall!” A giant booming voice that could only belong to Vernon Boyd called out across the parking lot. Stiles sat up and saw Boyd walking toward them, Derek close behind. “Stilinski,” Boyd said too, but ihis name sounded less like a greeting and more like a warning. 

He was dead, and maybe he was trying his best not to panic because Boyd was obviously going to beat him to death. “Hey Boyd, Derek,” Stiles waved anyways. He had nothing to lose being nice. Maybe Boyd would be quick about it. 

When Scott smiled and laughed as he greeted Boyd and Derek like the teammates they were all Stiles wanted to do was run away, very fast. Instead, he nodded and smiled as he set up next to Scott when Boyd casually suggested they skirmish, like nothing was weird and everything was awesome. They were all pretending Derek didn't look pissed. He and Scott were facing off directly, one on one, with the two best players on the team, and Derek looked like he was the one about to beat Stiles to death. Everything was just fucking great, obviously. A half hour later his lungs were burning and his arms hurt from trying like hell to guard Derek, but it was a lost cause. Boyd ended up being the nice guy and Derek was a beast. Stiles was in no way worthy of his hotness or his skill, not like he ever thought he was before.

An hour after admitting defeat internally while he tried to maintain some kind of dignity outside, Stiles lost that battle too. He was flat on his back again, wheezing while he tried to catch his breath, hoping Scott would hurry as he refilled Stiles' water bottle at the drinking fountain. Boyd was laughing, probably at him. Derek could care less. They handed his ass to him on a silver platter, and maybe he deserved it, but he probably didn't deserve the courtesy of taking his punishment in private. Derek probably should have run him into the ground at practice, but he was too good to do that, even after what Stiles did. Boyd wasn't talking, and neither was Scott. Derek was decent enough to keep it just between them. 

“Good game McCall,” Derek grinned as he intercepted Scott and took Stiles water bottle. Derek left Scott looking at Stiles like he wasn’t sure what to do. Stiles struggled to get up before Derek got to him, but Derek caught his fumbling hand and dragged him to his feet so easily Stiles might have cursed a little. “You alright?” Derek asked with a deceptively sweet grin. 

“Yeah, no,” Stiles huffed out before he sucked down half the water in his bottle. “Thanks,” he said when he caught his breath finally. “I think?” Stiles muttered. “Unless you guys came here to fuck me up. i don't think I can thank you for that.” 

“You don’t think we’re here just to hang out?” Derek’s tone was more than a little sarcastic. Stiles would know. Sarcasm was his art form. “I guess you figured us out. Boyd is queer too and wants an eyeful,” Derek scoffed. 

 

“Funny.” Stiles cringed, but he was willing to take the punishment. He deserved it. 

“You want to negotiate with him too? I’m all in now, I gotta see this national fucking treasure.” Derek continued with the dry, brutal sarcasm, but Stiles just nodded and smiled a little. He wasn’t going to ruin Derek’s efforts by telling him he was about as intimidating as one of those fat, rolly yellow lab puppies chewing on things with sharp teeth when he tried to pretend he was mad. Derek was hurt still and that was worse. He was almost sweet compared to Scott when Stiles really pissed him off. “See you Monday Stilinski, I’ll call you when the thirst get’s too much to handle," Derek threw at him bitterly. Stiles was sure he meant that. 

Watching Derek and his perfect, stupid face snicker as he walked away might have actually been the moment Stiles fell in love with him. He was fucked up like that. 

***

You’re sure you like him back?” Scott asked from his place on Stiles’ floor where he was reading the Captain America compendium his dad got him for Christmas. “You better not be fucking around, Derek is cool,” Scott warned. 

“Yeah, well, he seems to have lost his chill lately,” Stiles muttered. 

“I’m not counting lately," Scott warned. 

“Because it’s my fault?” Stiles didn't need the nod Scott gave him to know Scott’s opinion. “I should text him,” Stiles decided. Scott stopped reading to look up and glare at Stiles. “I’m just gonna say hey, what’s up,” Stiles assured him. 

“Good.” Scott went right back to reading as soon as the text was sent, but Stiles just stared at his phone waiting for a response. 

‘Just thinking about getting a good look at your dick Stilinski,’ was all Derek wrote back. Stiles had tried to wait it out, but Derek obviously still needed to get it off his chest. It wasn't going to stop Stiles from trying. 

“We’re thinking about a Walking Dead marathon in a few. You interested?” Stiles said out loud as he typed it out to Derek. He waited to hit send until Scott nodded in agreement. 

‘Will your dick be there?’ Derek responded. 

‘Sure, and a Grand Supreme from Bellagio’s with your name on it,’ Stiles offered. 

‘K, we'll be there soon,’ Derek texted back and Stiles was so happy he almost kissed Scott.

It was his turn to have shiny hair, shave well, and worry about what kind of clothes he was wearing. It was horrible trying to decide how to look right for a not-date. None of the rules applied even though the intention was obviously there. By the time Derek got there Stiles felt even worse about how much of a jerk he had been, and they weren't even alone like they were when Derek put himself out there. It didn't take long before Boyd and Scott were dominating the conversation with zombie apocalypse what if’s, but Stiles still felt like he was under a microscope. He wanted to apologize for real, but Derek didn’t take any of the opportunities Stiles gave them to be alone, even just to talk in the four hours they were there. 

“That was the warmest cold shoulder I’ve ever seen anyone dish out,” Scott marveled as he watched Derek and Boyd walking away, headed toward Derek’s car. “He was so nice, but....” Scott was mercifully unwilling to spell out how miraculously fucked Stiles was, which was an improvement on it’s own. 

“I want to die,” Stiles said into the throw pillow he was face down in a moment later. Scott plopped down in the chair next to him and grabbed the leftover popcorn. “Or maybe just get a personality transplant.” Stiles turned his head but Scott kept watching the screen. Stiles looked up, not surprised at all it was a Sham-Wow commercial that had Scott so transfixed. “You think this is totally useless?” Stiles asked. 

“Nah dude. He’s still into it,” Scott grinned. He shoved a big handful of popcorn in his mouth, eyes still fixed on the screen. 

“I’m not sure. I don't feel like crashing and burning a second time with someone like Derek,” Stiles admitted. 

“Since when do you like dudes anyhow?” Scott asked. It seemed like the kind of thing Scott should have asked a while ago, but Stiles was sort of proud of him that he just took the whole thing for granted. 

“Since Derek became an option.” 

“You’re Dereksexual,” Scott snorted. He laughed at his own joke and kept eating popcorn like he wasn’t joking about something that was a really big deal to Stiles. It wasn't like Scott at all. 

“I’m serious though. I don't think I can keep trying. I dont want to be that guy.” 

“Boyd said he was into it,” Scott said flippantly. 

“What? When?” Stiles jumped up, sitting closer to Scott. 

“When I texted him and asked,” Scott admitted. He pulled his phone out and handed it to Stiles. 

No one could ever fault Scott for making things too complicated. He asked Boyd outright and Boyd said Derek was still into it. Scott thanked Boyd and that was it. Stiles was sort of fucked. He couldn't even dismantle the subtext. There was none with those two. He and Derek cornered the market on that shit. 

***

“He just asked if I want to skirmish again today?” Derek told Boyd. 

“Is his dick gonna be there?” Boyd snickered. Derek tossed his phone on the bed between them, giving up for a while because Boyd was right, he was still a little pissed. 

They had spent all night talking about Stiles Stilinski and his stupid face. Boyd should have said a lot worse, but he was a bro. His phone made a little whooping noise, like a text had been sent and Derek sat up. “What the fuck did you just do?” Derek demanded when he saw his phone in Boyd hands. 

Boyd held the phone to his chest immediately, unwilling to let Derek see. “I told him how in love with him you are, and how many babies you wanna have with him.” Derek tried to grab the phone from Boyd, but he tucked it against himself and rolled over on it, nearly crowding Derek out of his own bed. “I’m taking over the bed, and holding your phone hostage until you promise me you’re gonna stop being such a bitch,” Boyd grumbled. 

“Come on dude.” Derek pushed at his shoulder, but trying to move Boyd was like trying to move a brick wall. He was fucking huge. “Seriously, what did you send him?” 

“Promise,” Boyd demanded. “You hit it or walk away by friday.” 

“That’s only five days!” Derek shoved his shoulder again, only pushing himself dangerously close to falling off the bed. 

“Six if you count today,” Boyd offered. 

“Fine,” Derek agreed because he might have been a little bit trapped under Boyd’s legs and it didn’t seem worth it to end up ass over head on the floor arguing over not doing something he wanted to do. Boyd handed him his phone and released the center of the bed. “Thanks,” Derek muttered as he scooted back over toward his side. 

Suddenly a huge arm pinned his chest down as Boyd rolled back toward him, threatening to crush Derek as he returned his phone. “Don’t thank me yet,” he snickered. 

Derek groaned when he opened his text messages. Boyd had sent one back almost exactly like the snarky call out Derek had sent the day before when Stiles asked about the Walking Dead marathon. The only difference was Stiles didn't roll with it this time. "Fuck, he didn't say anything," Derek complained. "If you fucked this up--"

"Worse than you?" Boyd laughed, not caring at all about Derek's mostly idle threats. "I'm going back to sleep because five hours is not enough to deal with this mess." 

More sleep wasn't a terrible idea. Derek fell back asleep with his phone in his hand and woke up with it against his chest, under his fingers where he left it. The big difference was it was trapped under Boyd's arm, but he wasn't hard to move when Derek added kicking his legs into the equation. Boyd groaned unhappily, rolled over and stretched himself out on his side of the bed. 

There was nothing, Stiles hadn't responded at all. All Derek had was a gigantic best friend who meant well, and a growing pile of guilt for being so upset over a simple misunderstanding. 

***

Monday morning took too long to get there. At least that's what Derek thought until he spotted Stiles in the hallway and lost him four seconds later. At lunch he wasn't at his usual table, but neither was Scott. Derek walked the school grounds looking, but he never found them. After pulling all of his homework and crap out in Econ so he looked like he was busy, Derek sent Stiles a quick text apologizing for what Boyd said even though he didn't admit Boyd sent the text. 

Part of him had been a little fixated and curious about what Jackson said, like Stiles thought. But that day in his room, when Stiles noticed how awkward Derek had suddenly become and just let him off the hook so easy, Derek couldn't help but like him a lot more after that. Everything he did from then on, the smiles, the clueless questions and his ridiculous brown eyes, made Derek so nervous he thought he was going to drop his pizza. 

Then Stiles thought it was just a cheap thrill Derek was after and the turnaround was so harsh Derek left in shock. Maybe he was still in shock. He wasn't sure how to approach Stiles at all. It's not like he had a ton of experience to begin with, but there was usually an idea. Either Derek wanted to fuck them, or he wanted to talk all night and be excited about a kiss. Both were awesome, and he very much wanted to do both with Stiles. Derek just wasn't sure how that worked yet. 

A text came through so Derek slipped his phone out of his pocket just enough to see it was from Stiles. It was a picture, which was weird. He flipped the screen with his thumb and almost dropped his phone. He shoved it down in his pocket fast, glancing over at Boyd who was looking at him like he was crazy, but he was sure Boyd hadn't seen it. No one had, Derek barely had, but it was enough. There was no way he was making any kind of sense if he asked to leave and he couldn't stay, not when he was sure his face and ears were beet red and his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. All he could do was get up and head for the bathroom. Thankfully no one said anything as he walked out the door. 

Derek quietly shut the bathroom door and checked through all the stalls before he could begin to talk himself into opening the text from Stiles again. When he finally did he couldn't believe what he was looking at. Stiles had taken a picture of his dick down the front of his shorts, in the library, under a fucking table. His dick was half hard--Derek fucking hoped--massive and resting on his leg like Stiles had balls big enough to match. Derek wouldn’t know because thankfully Stiles kept those inside his shorts. 

For some reason Stiles skinny, gnarly hand was holding down his waistband, clutched in a fist that looked more pissed off than sexy, and that made it so much hotter. Derek's cheeks felt like they were on fire. His dick was so hard he had to adjust it to keep it from grating against the inside of his underwear. Jeans weren't forgiving enough for the raging hardon Stiles had maliciously inflicted upon him. Derek was half convinced he was having a heart attack when he realized he hadn't even read the message Stiles sent along with it. 

‘Don’t ask for more.’ 

That was it, that’s all it said. That’s all it needed to fucking say. The photo was worth at least a few thousand words at least, maybe a sonnet or two. Derek would happily sit down and write a fucking--

The door creaked and “Derek?” whispered softly through the sliver of an opening. 

Unsure who it was, Derek turned off the screen of his phone and shoved it in his pocket again before pulling the door open. Stiles stood on the other side, arms crossed tight over his chest and his eyes wide like he was terrified. Some part of Derek knew exactly what he was doing, but another part of him was surprised as fuck when he grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him inside the bathroom, then into a stall. When he had Stiles pressed against the back of the door he stopped and took a step back because Stiles still looked terrified. 

“Do you want to be in here with me?” Derek asked. 

“Um.” Stiles waved his hand trying to maybe look casual but all he did was prove he was shaking and nervous. “Depends on what we’re doing?” 

“Can I kiss you?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled like he was relieved. “Yes.” 

Stiles was warm and cold, too hard and putty in his hands all at the same time. It took Stiles a moment to relax and find a place to put his hands, then a couple of well timed, incoherent, happy sounds for him to figure out it was okay to touch Derek anywhere really. Then suddenly Derek was being attacked by hands that were so strong and brutal they felt like they could open his chest and take out his heart, but he liked it. He liked how Stiles moaned into his mouth when Derek grabbed his ass and started grinding against him. After a while his hands ached from being trapped between the door and Stiles’ ass, but Derek didn't care. 

What he really cared about was his hard dick grinding against Stiles' until a hand found it’s way into his pants. Derek pulled back, surprised by the desperate sound he made when Stiles pulled a little and pushed back on his dick again. “Fuck,” Derek hissed.

Stiles nodded, his eyes sort of glazed over. “Yeah?” he said but Derek wasn't sure it was really a question. Stiles squeezed and stroked again so good Derek’s legs wanted to buckle out from under him. “Your face,” Stiles whispered. He pushed Derek back, crowding him against the cold metal stall. He reached back and held on to the thin metal wall, wishing they had more time, or he had more self control. “Come on,” Stiles urged. “I’ll make sure it doesn't make a mess,” he promised. 

The whispering against his ear and the hand curled around the back of his neck probably turned Derek on more that the one stroking his dick. Together it all worked too fast. Stiles held his fist tight around the head of Derek’s dick and his mouth was pressed hard against Derek’s as he got off, probably because Stiles was worried about him making noise. Derek didn't care. He wanted Stiles to kiss him like that all the time. He got off in the shower a lot, but he’d never had wobbly legs like he’d run for too long on a treadmill before after getting off. Stiles slid his hand away, taking a fistful of come with it and slipped out the door before Derek could say anything. He was still trying to catch his breath and walk normal when he forced himself to follow Stiles out to the sinks. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked as he washed his hands. “You look a little wrecked.” He grinned and went back to paying attention to washing his hands. 

“I am fucking wrecked,” Derek adjusted his shrinking dick again and fell back against the stall, willing it to hold him up. “How are you even okay?” Derek asked, then, “did you not like that?” 

“No,” Stiles said quickly. “I liked that. I did.” He dried his hands off on his shirt and turned back to Derek. It was like instinct or something to reach out for Stiles, pull him close again. Derek didn't want to talk to Stiles unless he was almost too close to see, and Stiles seemed to like that. “I was--I am really nervous is all,” Stiles admitted. 

“You’re still nervous?” Derek couldn't believe it was possible for nervous to be a part of what Stiles had just done. He felt like he’d been mauled by a bear, in a good way. “You were nervous sending me that picture?” 

“No, that was all severe impulse control issues, and maybe a little blue ball induced mental impairment,” Stiles laughed softly. The sound was awesome, like Stiles was happy and having fun even if he did say he was nervous. 

“I can help you out. Fuck class, Boyd will grab my stuff,” Derek offered. 

“I would like that, a lot. But it’s really not happening here, no matter how much I want it to.” Stiles kissed him softly, then ran his hands through Derek’s hair. “I can't fix your face, but the rest of you looks okay.” 

“I don't care, what about you?” Derek asked as he ran his hands up inside Stiles’ shirt. 

“Come over later,” Stiles offered.

“Your house? Will your dad be there?” Derek liked how warm and smooth Stiles’ skin was, and the way he wasn’t afraid to plaster himself up against Derek like the idea of personal space was absurd. 

“He’ll be gone until late. Same every Monday and Tuesday.” Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair again, maybe trying to fix it. Derek didn't care. He wanted Stiles to keep doing it, keep touching him all over, but he stepped back and Derek almost chased after him. “Right after school?” Stiles asked hopefully as he reached for the door. 

“Yeah, of course.” Derek wasn't going to pretend he wasn’t really into it. He was, and that made Stiles smile again. Derek probably would have said just about anything to see Stiles smile like that again. 

When Stiles was gone he looked at himself in the mirror, worried he had hickeys or scratches on his neck. He probably wouldn't have done anything about them, but he would have worked up his game face so no one asked. It wasn’t too bad though. His lips were too pink, and his ears were still red, but that wasn't anything. No one would notice. 

Walking into Econ quietly and sliding back down in his seat proved that theory wrong. Boyd snickered, then Lydia Martin looked back over her shoulder at him and grinned like she knew. Derek wondered if maybe she did. She and Allison were sitting next to each other, like usual, and Allison was dating Scott for some unknown reason. There was no way Scott didn't know, but he and Stiles were bros, like Dere and Boyd. Derek expected Scott to know, but he couldn't imagine Scott telling, so Derek probably looked like he'd just been fucked. 

Then Derek decided to not give a shit. He felt awesome and he was happy. He smiled at Allison when she looked back at him, not really caring what she thought. She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled, which was pretty cool, maybe. Derek laughed at himself. He was in way too good of a mood to fuck around and worry about stupid shit everyone was going to find out about anyways. 

“Dude, are you okay?” Boyd whispered as soon as the teacher stopped talking to let them work on the pages she assigned. 

“I’m good,” Derek grinned. He flipped his book to the right page finally and got to work, glancing up at Boyd when he didn’t do the same. 

“You seriously just got some--”

“Yes,” Derek whispered quietly. “I’ll tell you later.” 

Boyd hesitated again, but let it go. A couple minutes later a surge of excitement hit Derek as he was thinking about what he did with Stiles in the bathroom. He laughed really quietly, but a few heads turned and Derek had to desperately search for his chill. He looked over at Boyd like he might be able to help, but Boyd was looking at his book, shaking his head slow like Derek was not only completely tragic, he was also on his own. 

***

“I’m going to actually, literally die from a panic attack Scott. He’s coming over, like, now. Right now. He’s probably right behind me.” Stiles regretted not giving himself an hour or five to clean his room and maybe his browser history just so he felt like a normal human being and not an obsessive loser when Derek got there. “My room is--what if he wants to have sex?” 

“Come on, Derek isn’t like that. He’s been single forever. He’s not--” 

“It’s me Scott," Stiles admitted. "I'm going to be all over him. What if I want to have sex? I got my hands on him and I just fucking lost it. I was kissing him and--”

“Nope, no, no I draw the line right here. I want zero details about Derek’s dick,” Scott insisted. It was fair. Stiles didn't actually have any details about Allison’s private--anything. “None,” Scott repeated, just in case Stiles was trying to find a way to rationalize. 

“Fine, I’ll just say I got aggressive. Like, once I realized he was into it, I got really aggressive,” Stiles explained. 

"That doesn't surprise me," Scott snickered. Stiles wanted to throw the phone. "You know shit, be careful. Don't be a dick and just talk to him. Be honest," Scott said like someone who had a bunch of experience having sex and Stiles realized he did. "Derek is cool. Treat him like he is," Scott added. 

"He's cool," Stiles repeated. It was true. Derek was really fucking cool. "Right, good, thanks bro." 

Saying goodbye before he hung up probably would have been nice, but Stiles was still way too preoccupied by the idea of taking what they had done in the tiny, first floor bathroom to his bed. With his dick hard as a rock he didn't have enough blood left in his brain to pay attention to anything other than driving and the memory of Derek smashed against the wall, doing exactly what Stiles wanted. Once he got inside his front door though, Stiles quickly prioritized a to do list and changing his clothes was right at the top. 

Somehow he had just enough time to wash up a little and change his sheets too before Derek showed up. Stiles had big ideas about cleaning more but Derek wasn't looking at anything but him when he came in the door. Derek’s bright, excited grin made Stiles want to not talk and fuck it up, so that’s what he did. It seemed to work okay. Derek didn't seem to mind at all when Stiles grabbed him and kissed him, then dragged him up the stairs toward his room. At the top of the stairs he spotted the bathroom door and it reminded him to be a little more polite. 

“You need a drink, bathroom, snacks or whatever?” Stiles asked, surprised Derek was walking him backward toward his door because Stiles had stopped for a second and apparently that wasn't part of Derek's plan. 

“No, this is good,” Derek said before he smashed their lips together again, kissing Stiles in this sloppily devastating way that made his stomach keen and his hands shake. “Want you,” Derek muttered against his lips. 

Stiles had been drunk before, probably a few too many times. When Derek let go of him to fall back on his bed and kick off his shoes before spreading himself out so Stiles had no choice but to get on top of him, he started understanding what the fuck Lydia was talking about when she hammered him with terms like ‘emotionally drunk’ during last period. His fingers were tingling and his head felt like it might float away imagining what was going to happen next. 

When Derek pulled on the neck of his shirt and shrugged it off in one long, smooth motion, Stiles thought maybe he was imagining it. He wasn’t imagining Derek dragging him down on the bed with him, or taking his shirt off and making for the waistband of his shorts like they were getting right down to it. Thankfully Derek stopped and grinned like he was a little embarrassed before pulling Stiles down for more kissing, a lot more kissing because that was still really good. 

“Sorry,” Derek apologized after a while. “I just--” Derek kissed him, giving up on talking for a while again. After a while he finally finished with: “I’m into it. You do whatever you want.” 

In a way Derek sounded like he was sacrificing himself to the gods of sex or something. He looked like he would do anything Stiles asked him to. His usually bright eyes were blown out, his pupils like saucers. Stiles was responsible for that, all of it, and that was probably the most awesome thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life. Derek Hale was Beacon Hills untouchable sex god. Everyone just accepted it. No one really went after Derek anymore. But he had gone after Stiles, and maybe part of it was because Derek thought his dick was really hot, but whatever. That was probably the second best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Talking as little as possible was working for them so far, so Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and pushed it down into the waistband of his shorts. Derek made a little room between them and got a good feel of his dick before he wrapped a hand around it. Stiles wanted to make so much noise. Loud, fucked up noise, but he decided hyperventilating through it was maybe a little cooler. Then Derek kissed him again, but it was different. Soft and sort of sweet, like Derek wanted his attention or maybe to make him feel better, but he felt awesome. The blissed out look on Derek’s face made everything perfect. 

Suddenly all he wanted to do was turn into a puddle of sex and let Derek do a lot more of whatever he was doing because it was so good. A moment later he was on his back and Derek was crawling on top of him and Stiles wondered if Derek was a little psychic, or maybe Stiles had said something out loud and didn't remember. 

“Can I?” Derek asked and it took Stiles a good minute to realize Derek meant he wanted to take his shorts off. 

Stiles was way too busy enjoying the slow slide of Derek’s whole body against his. And his fucking mouth sucking on Stiles’ neck and chest. It was probably lame as hell, but he could have gotten off on just that if Derek gave him a little more. “Um, yeah,” Stiles finally said. 

“We don’t have to if you aren't sure,” Derek said. 

“No,” Stiles laughed. “I’m sure, I’m just fucking wrecked dude.” 

“Yeah?” Derek asked quietly as he peeled Stiles’ shorts down in this painfully slow way that made Stiles feel like maybe he was being fucked with. 

“Yeah, I feel like this might be payback,” Stiles grinned. 

“Maybe it is.” Derek sucked on the skin on his hip, his chin scraping a little against Stiles’ thigh. 

“It’s only fair,” Stiles breathed out before he just gave up on retaining any kind of cool and groaned when Derek’s face brushed against his dick. 

Derek looked up at him, excited like the sound Stiles made was great and Stiles had to rethink his entire plan of not sounding like a lame porn soundtrack. Before he had a chance to give it any real thought his dick was exposed and slapping against his stomach loudly. For a second he wished he would have given Derek some kind of speech about not saying fucked up things or being weird, but nothing Derek did after that was weird at all. He would go to his grave swearing to it. 

Maybe it was a little weird when Derek pressed his face against Stiles’ dick and moaned a little, but it felt good so Stiles wasn't going to complain. He was a little nervous what Derek was going to do with it until his dick was suddenly surrounded by warm, intense perfect bliss and Stiles couldn't help but moan Derek’s name a couple times. Stiles reached out and touched Derek’s hair, just wanting to let him know it was the best because words weren't happening anytime soon.

He didn't really mean to curl his fingers into Derek’s hair and pull a little, but Derek was squeezing his arm like he wanted it, then he moaned around Stiles’ dick and that made him really lose his fucking cool. The sounds that poured out of him were sick and desperate, more like he was begging for his life than getting his dick sucked. Stiles tried to be careful as he guided Derek's movements. After a few tense pulls he started fucking into Derek's mouth, thrusting up just a little at first, but Derek urged him on, looking like he actually enjoyed it. The show Derek put on was so hot it didn't take long for Stiles to start trembling as his balls clenched up. 

“Derek, I’m gonna--” Stiles tightened his fingers in Derek’s hair and pulled him off because as good as he seemed to be at sucking dick he didn't really know what was coming. Derek stroked him through it patiently. Stiles was relived Derek looked only a little fascinated because it was a lot more come than usual. “Sorry,” Stiles said the second he had a grasp on the fact he was covered in his own come. “Sorry, I should have--” 

“It’s fine, relax,” Derek moved up and half laid on top of him, not giving Stiles much of a choice in the whole chilling out and relaxing plan. It was good though. Derek looked happy as he kissed Stiles a couple times before he just ignored the come all over the place and snuggled up against Stiles like everything was cool. “God, you smell so good,” Derek muttered against his skin. 

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled. He wanted to laugh but he didn't have enough energy. Derek had sucked I talk out his dick, obviously. “I kept catching these little scents of you after the bathroom," Stiles said when Derek pressed his nose to Stiles skin tenderly. "I thought maybe I was going crazy? But I realized I hadn't washed my face off or anything.” 

“That’s so hot,” Derek groaned. He pressed his lips against Stiles neck and rolled his body like he wanted a lot more. It answered the question Stiles hadn't deciding on asking quite yet. They weren't done, maybe not even close, but he wasn’t worried about it anymore, they had all night. “I think we need a shower, if you’re into it?” Derek suggested with an odd amount of hesitation considering how comfortable he obviously was. 

“Are you serious?” Stiles laughed. He was excited by the idea. Probably a lot more than he should have been. “I’m kind of--yeah, we can do that.” It took him a second to realize Derek didn’t know stuff, like why Stiles really avoided the showers after practice. 

“If it’s not--”

“No, no,” Stiles rubbed his eyes, painfully aware of how awkward he was. “I really do like the idea of a shower.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked, still not totally sold, or maybe he was just curious. 

“I get off all the time in mine and I kind of have this problem the second I hit the water?" Stiles tried to explain without sounding like a loser with a shower fetish. 

“That--” Derek’s face fell into his shoulder as he laughed a little, but it was cute. Stiles instantly forgave him. “That explains a few things, but I’m into it.” 

“Alright, just gimme a minute to talk myself into moving,” Stiles grinned. "This right here is pretty great."

“Yeah, take your time.”


End file.
